Thirteen, when my dad was suspected, and thrown in jail for murder, and drug trafficking that I knew he did. At fourteen, when I witnessed, my first funeral which was caused by a serious case of overdosage, and that's when I knew there wasn't much to life than addiction. Everything, I have been living was a lie, and full of deceit. I just thought I could make everything better, but I only solved a problem in which case was loneliness, but the pain I felt physically, and mentally was still there until HE came. He hit me like a painkiller, and made everything depressing about my life go away. I had to take him every second, every minute, every hour, every single fucking day in a week, all weeks in a month, all months in a year or I could just die. Because, I was his addiction, and he was my *MORPHINE*